


lost boy

by bakubros



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Gen, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers, and so here is a drabble of me exploring this new love for his character LKJERWLKJR, look im just out here learning about how much i love claude von riegan okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22864027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakubros/pseuds/bakubros
Summary: Sometimes, when it’s late at night and Claude can’t sleep, he sneaks away to climb the steeples of the cathedral and just look up at the stars.The climbing reminds him a little bit of his childhood—and that nostalgia never fails to bring a smile to his face—but the comforts stop there. Because, despite what his logic tells him, the stars of Fódlan are not the stars of Almyra.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	lost boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magnvseffect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnvseffect/gifts).



> this is dedicated to kim because i p much Owe Her My Life for 1) having the greatest takes around holy shit, 2) Fully Opening My Eyes to a mister claude von riegan, and 3) being a really great friend, im love u and happy bday!!

Sometimes, when it’s late at night and Claude can’t sleep, he sneaks away to climb the steeples of the cathedral and just look up at the stars.

The climbing reminds him a little bit of his childhood —and that nostalgia never fails to bring a smile to his face—but the comforts stop there. Because, despite what his logic tells him, the stars of Fódlan are not the stars of Almyra.

Everything is different: the smell of the air—woodsy and faintly floral versus the warm incense that wafted through the air and basked his childhood in a gentle promise of protection; the chilly wind that rattles the towering pines below him, versus the familiar breeze of the Almyran valleys that would playfully tousle his hair; the dryness of his tongue versus the citrus of his youth; the painful silence of the monastery’s night versus the comforting lilt of his mother’s song or the mischievous laughter of his childhood friends... 

A part of him hates how obvious this should all be to him: Fódlan is different from Almyra. Of course it is. The other part of him finds it funny—because he knows that, when it comes to the things that matter, they’re not so different at all.

But then again, who is Claude to decide what does and doesn’t matter?

Sometimes, on nights like these, when he wallows in the familiarly unfamiliar darkness, Claude allows himself to wonder at the everyday complexities that the world has to offer. Questions of Manichean morality, the limits of binary justice, spectrums of black and white and multicolor and—

And what it means to dream… What  _ costs _ must be paid in order for a dream to become a reality…

The thoughts dance around in his mind rather haphazardly, and as Claude drifts through them all, he settles on that last one as his particular interest for the night.

What  _ is _ the cost of a dream?

His life? No, that answer seems almost too easy, too clear-cut—defeatist, really. To pay for something with one’s life… How could you even be sure that your dream would come  _ true _ if you were already dead? To pay the ultimate price without knowing whether or not it had even been  _ worth it _ … It’s something that Claude can’t even consider. Adaptability is one of the traits that he holds the most dear, after all. Despite all the attempts on his life, Claude had  _ survived _ —even when it would have been so much easier for him to die. To live, to keep fighting,  _ that _ is where true strength lies. Of this, Claude is almost certain. So no. His first attempt at an answer must surely be wrong.

Then what else? Abandoning his homeland to claim his birthright in a land that feels distant and foreign and familiar and close, all at once? He almost wants to laugh at the irony of it all, but when he thinks about laughing, he thinks of Shamsa’s breathy snickering and the ever-present twinkle of Cassim’s eye… And suddenly, laughing seems even sadder than it did before. As he stares up at the sentient night sky, he can’t help but wonder what the others are doing…  _ How _ they’re doing… If they’re looking up at the sky too, thinking of him and wondering if the stars in Fódlan are the same as those Almyra…

And Claude hardens his resolve, right then and there, reminding himself once more that this separation from his homeland is only  _ temporary _ : a means to an end, a  _ transitory _ means to an end. He was a son of both Fódlan and Almyra, and he’d rather be damned than willingly give up either of them—because, at the end of the day, that  _ is _ his dream, isn’t it? A world where two different cultures could come together to share and learn and  _ grow _ alongside one another… A world with no more prejudice or xenophobia or  _ hate _ … A world where a boy could be proud to be not one but both. So it only makes  _ sense _ that this answer would be wrong as well: Claude hasn’t  _ abandoned _ his homeland… because he has every intention to go back to it.

And so then what’s left? His honesty? His integrity?

… Yeah. Maybe that’s it.

He can’t lie to himself: he knows that, in an ideal world maybe, a leader could guide his people with all his cards on the table and direct answers to all of their questions and there would  _ be _ no secrets—but the fact of the matter is that they don’t live in an ideal world. Ideal worlds… Don’t exist. Not perfectly. But that doesn’t mean it’s not something to ever  _ give up on _ . It just.  _ Also _ means that he’d always have to keep some of his cards in his hand, that he’d always have to keep a secret or two to ensure that he’d be a step ahead of the rest. It’s what he would have to do to keep his loved ones safe and protected.

So there it is. The cost of a dream would be, in a sense, that piece of his morality. And it’s a price that Claude is certainly willing to pay.

Manipulation —he’s done things but mostly  _ said _ things— that he knows were unkind: seemingly playful jabs to curry favor or advance his agenda; simple necessities for him to get the information he needs. He’s garnered a bit of a reputation for it at the monastery, with rumors about how he  _ probably _ shouldn’t be trusted flittering here and there.

Yet, for some reason, the people most immediately around him —the Golden Deer themselves—are all too trusting… Never seeming to doubt him for even a second.

And that part’s weird to him. That’s new. His classmates, even his professor… trusting him the way they do despite not really knowing him  _ at all _ —the trust him.

For all the understanding Claude desperately seeks, the understanding of  _ this _ seems particularly elusive. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever find the answer to it, no matter how many times he tries to think about it—and a part of him says that it’s probably okay if he never understands this, so much as that he finds the courage to  _ accept  _ it.

Because trusting others is its own form of bravery too, right?

Sometimes, when Claude looks up at the stars, he likes to lay back and just admire the vast expanse of the night sky: the remnants of starlight that shine from millions and billions of years in the past, the passage of time that the twinkling light represents, the fact that the night sky seems to stretch on forever, for eternity and infinity in every possible direction…

For all he tries to ponder life’s greatest mysteries, the truth of the matter is that he’ll never be able to answer all the questions of the universe in a single reverie, under a single endless sky. 

But it can be nice to pass the time.

The stars of Fódlan are not the same as the stars of Almyra—if only because it is here in Fódlan that Claude is one step closer to being able to leap up and shine amongst them.


End file.
